


No Fears for the Brave

by Jaeger Gipsy Danger (Carleen)



Category: Fallout (Video Games), Fallout 4
Genre: F/M, Fallout 4 Anniversary, Fallout 4 Memorial, Fallout 4 Third Anniversary, Funeral Fallout 4, Gen, NORA IS DEAD, Nate goes on, Shaun is Dead
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-11-05
Updated: 2018-11-05
Packaged: 2019-08-08 09:03:28
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,225
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16426415
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Carleen/pseuds/Jaeger%20Gipsy%20Danger
Summary: "Do not stand at my grave and weep."On a windswept hill just outside of Sanctuary, Nathan recites the words to an ancient poem, willing himself to acknowledge the passing of three years in the Commonwealth. Three years is enough time to grieve what he lost at the hands of the Institute and a bullet from Kellogg's pistol. He's not alone in his struggles. Settlers and his companions stand ready to offer support to the man who entered their lives so mysteriously.You're invited to Nora's memorial service. It's time to lay Nathan's wife to rest. November 10 marks the third anniversary of the game's debut, and I thought I'd mark the occasion.





	No Fears for the Brave

* * *

     Nathan Hale Cunningham attempted to shake off the cloying despondency by raising his eyes to the east to watch the morning sun, weakened by the dirty clouds gathering on the horizon struggle to rise by sending a few tentative rays across the landscape as if trying to decide if it were worth the effort. In anticipation, ancient trees, their leaves lost to the capricious seasons bowed to the north wind swirling dust over the landscape.

     Any other day he'd remind himself of Preston Garvey's morning prayer of being thankful to witness another sunrise and move on. However, Nathan might be forgiven for his melancholia because today was not a typical day. Absently scrubbing a hand over his chest, Nathan wondered how many times the human heart could break before it failed? Not through heart disease, or stroke or any of the other conditions of his time, but the lingering grief that held a man prisoner by visiting his dreams and haunting his days. The restless spirits of his baby son and beautiful wife. Her smile always just out of reach. The touch of her hand or watching her nurse Shaun a whisper just out of his range of hearing. A year before he stopped reaching for his wife in the night or listening for his son's cries. Two years before his brain stopped helpfully supplying him with "before" images of his hometown once known as Boston.

     Stimpaks might be a miracle cure, but he doubted stabbing himself in the chest with a four-inch needle would cure the grief that overshadowed his actions and behavior of the last years. Years spent adapting to his purgatory, know as the Commonwealth. Perhaps it was Hell, if so, the all the players made their appearance, with demons, brimstone, the Institute standing in for Dante's version of Hell and his son cast in the role of Old Man Satan.

     Today, three years after Nathan stepped out of Vault 111, he knew, if he hadn't before, the pain was part of him, and it's not something he can change, nor is it a nightmare to laugh off in the morning. Just another part of the man who managed to survive, one accomplishment, one sunset, one sunrise at a time. The November wind-tossed debris against the legs of the settlers circling Nathan where they stood on the barren hilltop. When thunder rolled across the scene, the people drew closer together and shifted their collars. Work-worn hands found coat pockets. Nathan bowed his head and tried again to rationalize his life.

     The park where his son was conceived on that early spring day. How the sun warmed their nude bodies while blooming flowers and trees provided a haven of privacy. Images of Nora's dark hair spread over the scented grass. The sound of their laughter because they'd screwed up by not using birth control. But that would be okay he remembered telling her, cooling her blushes with kisses. It was time for kids. Their kids. They'd name him Park or if it was a girl, Spring. Nora bit his lip for teasing, and he bit her back. They'd made love again slowly, taking their time and when he emptied himself into her, they stared into each other's eyes, knowing this time it would hold and after a year of trying they'd become parents. It didn't matter if it were a girl or a boy. What mattered was Nathan and Nora were ready to share the love they had for each other with a child. Their child. Guide this dream-child through the confusing and violent world they lived in with all the love in their hearts.

     Nathan yearned for a child to prove that life existed outside of war, a spark of life to wash away the images of exhausted soldiers staring into the void of Hell while a nameless soldier repaired their power armor. The sounds of agony and fear from soldiers and Marines carved scars into Nathan's flesh as surely a bullet from a Chinese rifle. Their parents happily anticipated their transition into grandparents, his sister standing ready to become the "cool" aunt, private schools and colleges picked out, nursery furniture on layaway at Fallon's. Neither expected that a year of trying hadn't yielded a child. The loved each other. They were healthy. What more did they need?

      This time, as Nathan lifted her hips and yielded himself to his wife, he knew. This time was different. This time they wouldn't weep over a miscarriage. As he rolled over taking her into his arms, he thought he would happily put a hundred babies in her belly if she would never stop looking at him that way. And maybe, if it were a boy, they would name him Shaun after his brother who died last year, alone, bleeding out on the gore-soaked tundra of some forgot battlefield.

      The answers, of course, stood huddled together in a circle around him, shielding him and surrounding him with their brand of courage. He had only to watch their care-worn faces to know the power of their courage. Their insistence that they survive on this barren landscape under the constant threat of starvation, radiation, mutated monsters, and evil. He knew, for the citizens of the Commonwealth a storm was just rain and thunder just a sound and if a storm came today then perhaps tomorrow the ground might be soft enough to get the root vegetables planted.

     They lived with the seasons, ate what they grew, kept animals and shared the extra with their neighbors. When the raiders came, and they always came, the settlements banded together and often as not drove the bandits away. And season by season things had changed. They lived in neat stone houses instead of ramshackle hovels constructed of rotting wood. Instead of walking, as their parents had always done, they rode in wheeled carts drawn by a brahmin. The Commonwealth glowed in the night like a precious jewel with a thousand lights. Animal hides manufactured into useful items and clothes. The old Saugus Ironwork Factory made tools for farmers to ease their labor. Brahmin pulled great metal scythes turning the dark soil. Farms stored their surplus harvest and residents no longer huddled in fear from the soulless winter nights of their parents.

     No one had seen a Super Mutant in months. Their guttural threats silenced from the landscape and feral ghouls had followed the mutants into memory. Ferreted from their hiding places, pushed out and destroyed by settlers seeking shelter and land. The monsters condemned for all time to stories given as ghost stories to children over campfires. And each Spring a few of the Raiders, probably the hungriest, approached the settlements with heads bowed, and arms raised seeking employment. One by one, the most skilled hired into the ranks of the BOS or the Minutemen.

     For the first time in memory, young people left their family farms seeking their fortunes as merchants, soldiers, guards or craftsman. Children grew tall and straight amongst the safety of settlements. The savage children, the ones who hid themselves in drain pipes and dank basements were taken in by settlers, gentled with food and shelter, and most of all, hope. Chores done, the people of the Commonwealth discovered the leisure to relearn skills once thought lost and taught their children to read and write.

     The Minutemen kept the roads safe and over time, the people of the Commonwealth began meeting in Diamond City at the change of each season to share food and news. The young people took advantage of the crowds, and the empty stands to meet privately and court. Mayor Hancock of Goodnighbor officiated at so many weddings he finally threw up his hands and relented to keeping records. The All Faiths Chapel in Diamond City expanded when marriages became, instead of a rarity, a regular event.

     The names of children born safely into this new world recorded faithfully by Pastor Clements. There are schools where only ferals and molerats once lived. The sound of children's playful laughter echoed through the streets. Plentiful food allowed more children to survive infancy. These are the things that gave Nathan a reason to wake up each day. Gave him purpose and meaning where he once believed his only choices were following Nora into death.

     The companions of his adventures—one or two of them as famous as himself—fanned out at his side holding a silent vigil for the man who lifted them from their troubles, led them to victory over the Institute and challenged them to help him build a better world. They owed him their lives, just as he owed them his. They supported and taught him the mysteries the Commonwealth version of good and evil. Directly to his left, Cait and Robert Joseph MacCready stood side by side gazing down at their infant daughter. Her name is Nora, and her brother Duncan doted on her.

     When the distant rumble of thunder startled her, and she began to fret, Duncan took her from Cait and cuddled the infant to his chest. He spoke quietly against her soft cheek until she giggled at the attention. Behind him, RJ slid an arm around Cait and the other around his son. There are no words in his vocabulary to describe the emotions that replaced the old feelings of sadness and regret. So he loved and protected them with fierce loyalty, and for the first time in his life knew pride. All that had begun when the man smiling at him fondly suddenly appeared in their midst.

     The sound of rope scraping against wood turned Nathan's gaze from the small family and raised his head to watch four men lift a narrow box from the ground and carry it to the neatly dug hole under an oak tree. This was it. The final line he hadn't been able to cross. Shoulders suddenly rounded, hands clenched he stared at them until he found breath and nodded. Danse, Preston Garvey, Sturges, and John Hancock gently lowered the box into the hole. When the men pulled the ropes away and stepped aside, a sob tore itself from the man's throat echoing across the clearing. But he didn't avert his eyes from the grave when Piper began reading her clear voice ringing in the growing light.

"Do not stand at my grave and weep

I am not there; I do not sleep.

I am a thousand winds that blow,

I am the diamond glints on snow,

I am the sun on ripened grain,

I am the gentle autumn rain.

When you awaken in the morning's hush

I am the swift uplifting rush

Of quiet birds in circled flight.

I am the soft stars that shine at night.

Do not stand at my grave and cry,

I am not there; I did not die."

     When Piper finished Magnolia stepped out of the crowd shivering in her red cocktail dress until Hancock placed his red frock coat over her shoulders. When she began to sing, the tears Nathan held back began to trickle down his cheeks. The lyrics of Angel rose in the morning air, swirling around the young trees. When she finished the song, Nathan pulled her close. "Thank you," he murmured against her ear.

     Magnolia smiled prettily for him and pulled away. "Anytime, sweetheart. Anytime." She kissed his cheek and pushed away his tears with her fingertips. "You're a good man. The best. You brought something special to all of us." She smiled again and returned to Hancock's side.

     No one in attendance doesn't know Nathan's story. He is the only survivor of Vault 111, and the box contained the remains of his wife, Nora. For three years her body lay frozen where Kellogg had left it, arms reaching for their son, the grimace of pain etched into her features from the bullet that ended her life. When the people of the Commonwealth first met him, he'd been an enigma of unbowed optimism, white teeth, and clear skin. Today he appeared older than his thirty-five years, not bent with age, but with the patina of stained teeth, scars and skin painted shades of mahogany by time spent under a naked sun.

     Today is the third anniversary of his awakening to the Commonwealth. The reality of his decision to bury his wife is the settlements are so prosperous they require the frozen storage available in the vault for meat and perishables. No one asked him to clear out the vault and they never would. But he could no longer defend against his refusal to face Nora's funeral. The settlements needed the space to store food. After three years, it was time to time to say goodbye.

     Last year they cleared the land, left a path for carts, and built a cemetery on the slope above the vault's circular entrance. Young trees, wild mutfruit, hub, carrot, and ferns were planted, and by next spring the area will bloom in colors of purple, yellow and blue. In a few more years the entire area will be shaded by the young oak trees. There are benches set in private arbors meant for reflection and meditation. Each gravesite is identified with a small plaque. His wife's grave sits at the edge of the hill overlooking Sanctuary and next to her are the remains of their son Shaun who died almost three years ago. There have been times when Nathan thought about following his family into the oblivion of death.

     What saved him then saved him now as the people who always pulled him back from the brink of darkness expected him to speak, to find words that meant something to them. He's better at action than words, but he is who he is, and he knows that too. The General of The Minutemen, a BOS Paladin, the director of the Institute and a Railroad Agent is expected to know the right words. Words meant to comfort, hope, and give closure.

     Their expectant faces wait patiently for him to begin, while Nathan glanced at his companions. RJ and Cait smiled encouragingly. Next to them, Strong wept openly but after dragging an arm across his face, managed a supportive nod of his massive head. Danse, Sturges, Preston, and Hancock returned his gaze unflinchingly, while Piper, her sister Nat and Curie smiled through their tears. The shock and fear of surviving alone in this strange world stayed with him, but he can no longer allow himself that fear.

     The men and women who fought and lived by his side are his brothers and sisters, the settlers his extended family. Years ago, Piper labeled him as Sole Survivor, and Mama Murphy called him a man out of time. How wrong they'd been and how incorrect the labels. Born and raised in Boston, he was a man of the Commonwealth. Old Blake Abernathy had stepped up to become his mentor and became something of a father figure.

     He'd wept into Mama Murphy's embrace on a few haunted nights. She'd hold him until her frail arms shook with fatigue and spun stories of courage and beauty for him until he could sleep. Nathan has loved and is loved in return. It has been suggested, and more than a handful of women agree, that he should share some of his pre-war DNA. He cannot deny it makes sense; it's just that he cannot come to terms with how far he might be expected to share himself and the consequences of an overabundance of his offspring running around the Commonwealth.

     If only Haylen wouldn't blush every time, he entered the room. He's always had a bit of a crush on the pretty scribe, and he might accept the offer of her wise eyes and becoming blush if he weren't certain Knight Rhys would turn him into a pile of laser goo for his actions. Across the clearing, a toddler clinging to her mother's hand stared at him unflinchingly. The line of her jaw and dark blue eyes regard him from under a shock of black hair, and Nathan's heart bottomed out when he finally understood he's looking into the familiar features of his own mother.

     Nathan raised his eyes from the child to the men and women assembled to share this moment. It's then he realized, as the weight lifted that his wife will live in his heart as long as he still breathes. No one can take the memories of his life before the bombs away from him. If the bombs denied him the years spent raising his child and growing old with Nora, then this world replaced those expectations many times over. He cannot deny it, although neither can he change it. It's time to move on. The sting of old tears faded as he began to speak.

     "Thank you for being here..." Emotion slowed his speech, stopping him for a moment. The truth is, Nathan's loss paled in comparison to theirs, and if he ever had courage, it came from the settlers and his companions. He loved them all, and every single one of them taught him, carried him, nourished him, and tended his wounds.

     "All...all of you taught me in your own way how to survive. Each of you carried grief that left me breathless with the depth of your loss. Mr. Abernathy lost his daughter, Mary. Danse, his friend, Cutler. Lucy MacCready, Knight Varham, Knight Astlin, Scribe Faris, and High Rise. Tommy Whispers and Arlen Glass. My wife Nora and our son Shaun. Wiseman and Holly and the hundreds of settlers, agents and soldiers who willingly put their lives on the line for the higher goal of making the Commonwealth a better place.

     "Once, I thought I was alone... I learned differently. Learned there were brothers and sisters, fathers and mothers, children, and families. That I had more than a wife and a child. I had all of you."

     They smiled encouragingly, ignoring the tears tracking down their grimy cheeks. Sitting on his mother's shoulders, at the age where he no longer carried the chubby cheeks of a baby, a boy dressed in a miniature Minuteman uniform, grinned at him with the smile that matched his own. Nathan swallowed hard and remembered those first lonely nights when he reached out and found acceptance, warmth, and something to let him forget if only for an hour, the horrors that surrounded him.

    _A boy and a girl...? I will speak to those women today._

     Nathan reached out a hand to steady himself and found Hancock and Sturges at his shoulder their light touch buoyed him until he could find more words.

     "In my time we believed we had everything. The perfect children, perfect relationships. Material accumulation measured a man's worth. A beautiful wife, and well-behaved children a marker of a man's ability to control his environment. I awoke to the opposite. Here, I discovered the strongest relationships, the deepest commitment, and unconditional love. Humanity is indeed at its best when faced with the gravest adversity."

     When he stopped talking the crowd pressed closer, offering their support, and by silent agreement his words. They knew that without his help, none of this would have happened and without them, the newcomer would undoubtedly have died in the wasteland just another forgotten body among the thousands left to rot under an unforgiving sun.

     The ghoul, a synth, a Minuteman and a man named Sturges whose country manners hide innate genius began to shovel dirt over the casket. The settlers formed a line, and one by one added a handful of soil. Each sound of earth hitting the plain wood coffin lifted Nathan from his sadness and raised his eyes to the daylight and the eager faces. The picket fences, green grass, fancy cars, and the endless parade of materialism faded replaced by hope and the courage to go on. To survive. To love.

     When it's his turn, he placed a bouquet of hub flowers on Nora's grave and a stone he found on the spot where they'd made love so long ago in a now-forgotten park.

     "Goodbye, Hon," he murmured to the mound of fresh dirt. Reaching inside his shirt, he pulled the chain that held his BOS dog tags and his wife's wedding ring. Then carefully slid his wedding ring off and added it to the chain and tucked it carefully inside his shirt. When he finally stood, he was alone of the windswept hilltop. For a moment that past almost as quickly as it came, he's not sure how to make himself walk away. Nathan spread his hand over this chest and remembered his Nora is no longer here. She wouldn't want him to be sad, just as he knew she would be proud of what he's accomplished. It isn't emerald grass, strewn with diamonds from a spring shower, framing tidy houses surrounded by white picket fences. It isn't prepacked food manufactured to last well past its nuclear holocaust best-by-date. She's in his heart, and that's always been true. The guilt and the what-if's lifted from his shoulders. An errant north wind lifted them to carry them away where they can no longer hurt him.

     Below him, the lights of Sanctuary winked out as morning banished the storm clouds and warmed the landscape. After dusting off his hands, Nathan allowed his feet to carry him down the worn path where his neighbors had fled for their lives so long ago. Their remains cleared away and their bones buried on the hill rising behind him. It had all happened so fast. No one had believed in mutually assured destruction.

     They told themselves at work, the grocery and church that governments would never make such a hasty decision. They repeated the words as a mantra against a terror none could imagine. No, their children would grow up healthy and happy. They would get good grades at excellent schools, then go to college. Someday they'll be grandparents, and the world would go on as it always had. Didn't they live in the very city that stood as a testament to human strength and endurance?

     But then the world had gone mad, and the fire burned while he slumbered. When he finally woke to an empty landscape littered with the refuse of humanity. Day by day, he discovered the Commonwealth wasn't empty, and life thrived, not on the roaring polluted freeways, or the customers scrambling for the best of this or that at Fallon's or fathers struggling to feed their families amidst the growing violence and inflation.

     Nathan paused for a moment when he realized the sound of weapons fire was absent, and the weight of the .44 he carried on his hip and the .308 rifle on his back were missing. How long had it been…? He breathed in, and understood that instead of gunpowder and ancient dust he smelled cut fields, fresh melon, and gourds—would the children enjoy learning to carve faces into the pumpkins as he and his brother once did so long ago? He listened to the sound birds hunting for breakfast and settlers calling to each other as they headed off the begin the day's labor.

     He followed them...willingly and felt a smile intrude into his usually stern features. He crossed the bridge and headed up the small hill. It's a beautiful morning. There's work to be done, chores to finish, and decisions to make. He wondered, as he often did, which hat he might be expected to wear today? A Minuteman General? A Paladin's hood or an Agent's disguise? He tugged on the brim of Grandpa Savoldi's old Minutemen hat and grinned. This would do just fine, he thought and paused at the knot of settlers waiting for him at the top of the rise.

* * *

 “Do Not Stand at My Grave and Weep,” Mary Elizabeth Frye

* * *

 "Angel" 

 Songwriters: Sarah Mclachlan

 Angel lyrics © Sony/ATV Music Publishing LLC

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=tFr03FpjVP8

 

* * *

  _Songs and Ballads of the Revolution,_ collected by F. Moore (1855) contained the "Ballad of Nathan Hale" (anonymous), dated 1776.

"Thou pale king of terrors, thou life's gloomy foe,

Go frighten the slave; go frighten the slave;

Tell tyrants, to you their allegiance they owe.

No fears for the brave; no fears for the brave."

* * *

 _To the Memory of Captain Nathan Hale_ by Eneas Munson, Sr. (Written soon after Hale's death)

“Hate of oppression's arbitrary plan,

The love of freedom, and the rights of man;

A strong desire to save from slavery's chain

The future millions of the western main,

And hand down safe, from men's invention cleared,

The sacred truths which all the just revered;

For ends like these, I wish to draw my breath,"

He bravely cried, "or dare encounter death."

And when a cruel wretch pronounced his doom,

Replied, "'Tis well, —for all is peace to come;

The sacred cause for which I drew my sword

Shall yet prevail, and peace shall be restored.

I've served with zeal the land that gave me birth,

Fulfilled my course, and done my work on earth;

Have ever aimed to tread that shining road

That leads a mortal to the blessed God.

I die resigned, and quit life's empty stage,

For brighter worlds my every wish engage;

And while my body slumbers in the dust,

My soul shall join the assemblies of the just.”


End file.
